Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Check My Pulse

Idea for sci-fi novel: An Enthusiast invents (or inherits or finds or, if this were Stephen King, extrudes) a time machine; it only has one trip in it (Get it? Trip? Because of the drug use! Because of all the drug use). He uses it to go back to 1995 and revive Garcia from his heart attack and, after proving his bona fides as a Time Traveler (with wackiness: “The president is what-now?) nurses him slowly and carefully back to health.

This act leads–both directly and provably–to a Global Holocaust. Rest assured that the words zombies, genitals, and eating will be involved and, quite frankly, it doesn’t matter what order you put those words in, I want no part of it.


  1. There was a short story in an anthology called “The Storyteller Speaks,” about an auto-immune disease that was a retrovirus where the illness took effect on the precise date of the person’s first Dead show, twenty years later. The result was an epidemic of zombies, known as ‘jerries.’ Each zombie eats their own right middle finger off to go full-tilt jerry. They roamed, zombie-like, and the sounds of Grateful Dead music merely briefly stunned them. A small group of them was known as a ‘bug,’ a larger group a ‘busload,’ while beware the ‘Furthur formation.’ American Zombie Beauty I believe it was called, by Philip Baruth.

  2. It’s posted on wordpress, so’s I’m betting this Baruth (a name we don’t hear around the club very often, do we Dickie? HARRUMPH) fellow wouldn’t mind me linking to it.

    I did research for you! Make me viral!

    PS Obviously, if Mr. Philip Baruth (Philip? Dear, was there an apostle named Philip? HARRUMPH One of the lesser ones, yes.) would prefer not to be associated with my prolix make-em-ups, I will erase the link.

    PPS Also, I have not yet read the work past a cursory glance at the front page to make sure it was in English and in a not-crazy person font, I am simply assuming that there is just the normal amount of crazy in it. Like there might be racist cannibals who feel like getting Chinese, but there won’t be, like, the Secret Betabet (One past alphabet, the betabet contains a verb iterations that allows you to say what you meant, if you know what I mean) of Ganorshenoo which, when read, will bring about the Second Evacuation of Teejayhushmandzadah.

    I, do however just take it on faith that the words contained therein will not inspire a movement, putsch, coup (preferably bloody), retaliatory strike, banzai attack (holy shit, that was racist), junta (armed or otherwise), death panel (those were totes real, y’all), flashing, mashing, monkey uprising (FINE: not monkeys, APES, apes.[fuckin’ monkeys]),rampant touching of tushees, ramparts made of tushees, touching rhinocerouses ram parts with tongue sangwich…

    We have lost the plot, you and I. Read the story, don’t. Who’s to care or know? Who’s to make such an effort?

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